Children For Dummies
by TheRadMonkey
Summary: Or: What To Do When You Are F.U.B.A.R. After the war, Emily has enough to deal with as it is. Now she's got to take care of her newborn nephew and thirteen-year-old sister as well. This probably won't end well. OC/GW HP/DM RW/HG and maybe more.


"Emily...I would like you to try and talk about your family again."

She knows I hate that. She just knows it.

"What is it you want to know?" I ask, my lips pursing in annoyance and my voice unnaturally cold. Normally I'm a very warm, wonderful person (not to be humble or anything) but she _knows _I hate talking about my family. She_ knows_ it.

"How have you been getting on with your sisters?" Ms. Andy questions delicately, looking almost as sorry for bringing it up as I feel for sounding the least bit unhappy with her.

It's silly, I know. I mean, the only reason I come to these sessions is, technically, to talk about my past. And while I truly despise even thinking about the events that have recently transpired, I know I really should get it all out there.

And I've been seeing Ms. Andy for almost seven months, now. She's tried to get me to open up about my parents and my brother and all that a few times, but I've always told her I'm not ready. I'm still not ready. Maybe she's finally figured out that I'll never be ready so she might as well force me into it now.

It is force, by the way. I pay her forty galleons a week. I might as well get something useful out of it.

"I haven't," I snap despite mentally reminding myself that she's just doing her job and she doesn't have a personal vendetta against me. "Both of them feel the need to ignore me, as though this whole bloody thing is my fault!"

"Do you think it's your fault?" Ms. Andy asks, her fingers pressed against each other underneath her chin and a serious look on her face. If we'd been talking about anything else I would've laughed at her. But instead we're talking about this.

"No," I say defensively, even though a part of me knows that I'm not being completely truthful. Ms. Andy raises her eyebrows skeptically, and I feel the need to defend myself more clearly. I don't think she honestly understands. "I never gave them any indication to follow me, and Traci and Madison both know it. When I found out I said I was going to help. They came after me. I don't see the need to feel guilty for surviving when most of my family couldn't."

Ms. Andy gives me a thoughtful look, and I wait for her to say something. Perhaps she'll attempt to make me feel awful for the way I've talked about it. Perhaps she'll to tell me I'm a horrible person and it's no wonder my sisters are ignoring my existence.

Instead she says something that isn't quite expected. "I've just realized something, Emily...after all of the months we've spent in this room, I still know virtually nothing about your family... or what happened to you during the battle of Hogwarts."

She's lying, and we both know it. She's probably been trying to build up to this moment for weeks, maybe even months. I have to give her points for half-arsed subtlety, however.

"There's really not much to say." Now we're both lying through our teeth, but she doesn't call me out on it either. "Mum and dad are dead. Joe's dead. Georg's dead." I'm proud of myself for being able to say it so calmly, and not just in my head like I've been doing every night before bed since the evil deeds had been done. I said it out loud. And my voice didn't even quiver. I didn't even cry. Obviously I'm evolving. Too bad it's taken almost eight months.

"Georg and Joe are..." Ms. Andy trails off, waiting for me to explain. I reluctantly do.

"Joe was my brother. Traci's the oldest of course. And then there was Joe, and me, and then Madison. And Georg was Traci's husband. The father of her unborn child and all that. Georg Listing. He was German"

"And did Georg's death effect you like the others?" I'm sure what she's getting at, but I decid to take the chance anyways with what I'm comfortable explaining.

"Traci's taken his death hardest, of course, but he was close to all of us. In my eyes he was just as much of a brother as Joe, and I loved him as if we were blood related." I hate saying these things out loud. Not that I'm ashamed of them, of course, but saying it out loud makes it more real. I can't deal with the reality just yet, I don't think.

"You said that Traci is pregnant?" Ms. Andy continues on, as if to give me some reprieve from the pain welling in my chest, just thinking about it all.

"Yeah," I agree. "She told us a week before the battle. She was a month along when Georg and the rest died. She's due in a few days." Not that she's been telling me how it's going or anything. I've figured out the baby's due date all on my own. The few times she's talked to me, I've only been able to get a brief 'he's healthy as ever, the healers say' followed by a quick good-bye that always manages to leave a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Ms. Andy nods thoughtfully, and before I can stop myself I'm adding something else. Something I've been thinking for months but haven't been able to voice. She's opened up a floodgate of information that I've been hiding. "I think Traci's just waiting," I mutter, not looking into Ms. Andy's eyes because I feel ashamed for even thinking it, "until the kid is born before..." I pause, trying to force the words out of my clenched teeth, knowing that I'll feel better if I just get it out in the open. "Before she kills herself."  
>"Excuse me?" Ms. Andy is surprised, but she doesn't let it show. She's trying to remain professional with me. I get that.<p>

"Like I said before, Traci's taken the deaths harder than everyone. She's the oldest, so she feels responsible for Joe, and she was the most capable of talking mom and dad into staying behind, and of course she has to live with the memory of Georg every second because she's carrying his child - I'm not saying she's right to feel so guilty. She's not. It's not her fault. But I know how Traci thinks. I know she blames herself more than anyone else. And I know she's cowardly enough to not be able to live with that."

I say it all as a fact. No emotions conveyed even though I most certainly feel them. I like Ms. Andy, but I hate looking weak, and admitting how scared I am is a weakness.

"Not to mention she's got custody of Madison now, which means that when Maddie's on holiday she's got even more to deal with. It's too much for her to handle."

"Have you tried to get your sister help, Emily?" Ms. Andy asks softly, and despite myself my eyes tear up, though I manage to keep the tears from falling. I nod, clearing my throat and unconsciously clenching my hands into fists.

"Of course I have," I reply, feeling a little pissed at the implications. Like I don't even care if my sister commits suicide. "But like I told you, Traci refuses to talk to me - at least about anything even semi-important. Every once in a while I'll catch her on a good day and she'll tell me how Madison is doing. She won't listen to me though, and she won't tell me how she's feeling or how she's coping or anything like that.

"And I've tried talking to people about not giving her a choice. Traci would never forgive me of course, but I could deal with that if she just got better."

"Your sister is a legal adult, Emily," Ms. Andy tells me apologetically as if I don't already know. "We can't force her to seek help unless she actively tries to hurt herself."

I sigh, rubbing my hand against my forehead in an attempt to get rid of an oncoming headache. "No one understands," I mutter, mostly to myself. I try not to dwell on the fact that it's mostly my fault that no one get's it. I haven't exactly been forthcoming with information on my sister. Some habits are harder to break than others. "Traci doesn't do things halfway. If she wants to die she'll fucking die, and I can't stop her on my own." Hopelessness and despair are swirling within me just thinking about it, and I know that if I don't get out of here soon she'll see me cry. I don't want her to see me cry.

I stand up quickly, willing the tears not to fall and unable to look Ms. Andy in the eye.

"I think that's enough for today," I mumble, ignoring the fact that it's usually Ms. Andy who says those words, not me.

I hadn't been ready for this.

"Emily-" I run off before I can hear more than the calling of my name, scurrying out of the office and away from Polly - Ms. Andy's receptionist - who seems just as confused by my behavior. I wait until I get into the lobby of the building before dissapparating, not wanting to go outside with the muggles, and at the same time too polite to have done it in Ms. Andy's office.

I find myself just outside of Traci's home, and for a second I'm confused. This isn't where I meant to go. Still, it's just as well. Talking about Traci has just made me more anxious to see if she's still alive.

I pound on the door harshly, not even trying to be nice about it because 'nice' hasn't gotten me anywhere. "Traci!" I yell, my voice quivering despite myself, "open the fucking door!"

Traci doesn't answer of course. She rarely does anymore, so I shouldn't be so surprised. "Traci!" I try again, my knocks growing quieter until they stop completely and I crumple onto the front step, tears wetting my cheeks. I can't remember the last time I've cried out in the open like this, where anyone can see me. At the moment, though, I've stopped caring. "Please." It comes out as a choked whisper, and I immediately feel disgusted with myself for sinking so low as to beg. If my mother could see me now she'd be threatening to write me out of her will.

Not that it matters anymore, I guess.

I hear the small sounds of Traci's rocking chair moving back and forth in the sitting room, so I know she's just ignoring me.

She's still alive, at least. That's a plus.

I sigh, wiping the wetness from my cheeks using the door handle to haul myself back to my feet. I feel drained, and suddenly all I want is a cup of tea and my bed.

And to know that everything will be alright, but I doubt I'm going to get that sort of relief.

Stepping a few feet out of sight of the neighbors, I take a deep breath and remind myself that she won't do anything until she has the baby. That gives me a few more days to get through to her. Then I apparate.

There's the uncomfortable tugging and claustrophobia that comes with the apparating, but I've gotten used to it over the years. Like with everything, the fear and discomfort of learning leaves after the first few succeeded attempts. Riding a broom, flooing, etc...

In seconds I'm standing in the middle of Weasley Wizard Weezes, and I immediately fall to the floor in relief. The store is a safe place for me. It's detatched from the rest of my life, and in a way it's the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

I've worked here since the war ended. I'd walked in one day to buy a welcome home gift for Madison, and haven't really left since. It's not because this place in particular is really special to me or anything, it's because of George.

George needs me, and in a way I need George, and there's no point in denying the inevitable.

"You're early," I hear from behind me, and it takes all of my willpower not to scream like a little girl.

Instead I very slowly get back to my feet and turn around to face my boss. George is leaning expectantly against the front counter, his arms crossed and his thick ginger eyebrows raised.

It's obvious from the moment that I get a good look at him that I'm not the only one who's been crying this morning. His honey colored eyes are rimmed with red and his nose is a little pink, but otherwise it's not noticeable. I can only hope that fate has given me the same gift.

I allow myself a small smile, ignoring the pain still clenched in my chest and the exhaustion that comes with emotionally buggering yourself over. "A bit," I admit, crossing the store to greet him with a proper hug - something I know that we both need. "But the therapy ended early and I'm not really hungry. I thought I could come and help you set up."

This is a lie of course. I came here because I needed to be in George's presence. But you don't live in the Slytherin dormitory for seven years without learning how to successfully lie. It's unheard of.

George accepts this answer as I knew he would. "It's a good thing you're here, I suppose," he tells me, giving me a smile in return. "I was about to call Ron to help out, but he always demands that I pay him for doing not a bloody thing." We both simultaneously roll our eyes, an action that often comes when someone mentions George's younger brother.

"Procrastinating again I see," I smirk after finally giving the shop a quick once over and seeing that George hasn't done anything since closing last night. He shrugs and gives me a grin that's generally nonexistent since Fred's death.

"As always," he agrees, giving me shoulder a slight, almost flirty, shove as he pushes away from the counter and goes about his business. "Now either give me a hand or get the hell out."

I laugh but comply, falling easily into the routine.

It's become easy to ignore my feelings during the day, to pretend as though they don't exist and that I'm perfectly fine. It's even easier to do this when I'm around George, because I know he's doing the exact same thing so that neither of us have to worry about the other one calling us out on it.

The problem only arises after everyone's gone home. Then there's no reason for me not to let it all out. I have my own little routine after I get back to my flat, and while it might not be the healthiest, it's most certainly the best suited for me.

To anyone else who might see me going through the motions of changing out of my robes into pj's, fixing dinner for myself, and reading a bit - I must look quite normal. But the changes are there, when I'm alone. I don't force myself to smile because there's no one to see it, I don't make my laughs out to be anything but cynical and hopeless. There's a bit of a numb dread that takes me over as soon as I get behind the comforting walls of my flat.

I'll eat dinner at exactly seven o'clock. Then I'll go upstairs and change into more comfortable clothes. If it's a Sunday I write a letter to Madison and send it with an owl so that she'll get it Monday morning. Any other day of the week I'll sit in the library and read. At ten o'clock I'll stop what I'm doing, no matter how interested or not I am on the subject, go upstairs and shower. I put out the lights, crawl into my overly-large bed, grab a pillow, and remember.

I force myself to remember everything. The way my father read me bedtime stories as a child - my favorite had always been Babbity Rabbity - and how my mother would run a brush through my hair after I'd taken a bath. Joe reading chapters from his school books to me before I'd gone to Hogwarts just because he thought I felt left out. Georg attempting - and failing miserably - to teach me German, but both of us laughing when my accent made the words abysmal. Traci calmly asking me to kill her after their funerals. Madison telling me I'm a heartless bitch.

I remember it all, and I let it all hit me like I'm being Cruciatus Cursed, until I'm a sobbing mess. Until my heart aches and my stomach rolls nauseatingly and I have to curl into myself for fear of falling apart.

That's how I fall asleep, and for the next eight hours I have nighmares that wake me up and make it difficult to fall back into slumber. When my alarm goes of I get up and start the day as though nothing happened.

And then I do it again.

"Hey, Tarver!" I look up from where I'm stacking another set of skiving snackboxes - they're always quite popular but this year they're practically flying off the shelves - and see two of my favorite people entering the shop.

I suppose most people are still starry-eyed over Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, but I've never really been able to fall into that particular category. Even in school, where I was a year older and spent most of my time hearing about they're silly adventures, I'd never quite cared. I didn't know them personally at at the time I hadn't particularly wanted to. Then I'd gotten a job as one of George's employees and now I see them quite often.

I think Harry had been a little nervous at first, expecting me to ask for his autograph or merlin-knows-what else. Instead I'd given them both a stern look and told them that I didn't care what they'd done or who they were related to, neither of them were getting discounts.

We've been quite friendly with each other ever since.

It's Harry who's spoken and I smile brightly at them. "Good, you're here," I say, "you can help me out."

Ron groans unhappily and Harry looks a bit put out. "Do we have to?" Ron asks, pouting at me just a little while Harry looks a tad deflated. I roll my eyes, wave my wand to levitate the rest of the boxes (slowly, I'm not stupid), and fix them both with a glare.

"We've been over this," I remind them both using my most stern voice (I think it reminds them both of Mrs. Weasley, which means I have a better chance of them agreeing), "if you're coming in here to dawdle about then you're helping. No exceptions."

"But we just wanted to visit George for a moment," Ron speaks up with a slight whine, and Harry adds a half-hearted 'yeah'. This means - I've come to learn over the past few months - that they're both about to do something stupid and immature and they don't want me to know what it is. Telling them off won't get me anywhere, and I know it, so I take a different route instead.

"George isn't here," I tell them, pocketing my wand before crossing my arms with a stance they know quite well. To my immense pleasure both boys begin to look slightly uneasy. "And before you ask I don't know which shop he's at, only that he'll be back soon enough. So you can either stay here and help out or bugger off for an hour."

It goes to show you how much I like them, because generally I don't give people a choice.

"What do you want us to do?" Harry asks before Ron can pull him out of the shop, and I give him one of my brightest smiles.

"I'm glad you asked, Potter," I tell him happily, motioning to the back room, "you can help me stock. And Weasley," I turn to the defeated redhead without losing my warm expression, "you can start cleaning up. There's a lull in business at the moment and we should take the wonderful opportunity."

"You're mean," I hear Weasley mumble, but there's no real fire in the words and I know he's just put out that he has to work.

I grin at him, walking over and patting them both on the back. "Think about it this way you two - if you help me out now I'll help you out later. And we all know how helpful I can be when the occasion arises." I give turn to give them both a sly wink (causing the two to blush adorably) before motioning for Harry to follow me.

Not much happens in the next twenty minutes, other than Ron accidentally setting one of the beams on fire and Harry getting his nose broken after a box falls on his face.

We're actually having a fairly good time despite the mishaps that seem to happen around the two of them, with a couple of customers in between our various shits and giggles fun, the three of us joking and swapping stupid stories that are a bit depressing and delightful all at once. In what feels like no time at all everything I'm supposed to do while George is away is finished, and we lounge against the register, still grinning amusedly from Ron's story about Harry's first kiss.

"Granger's right you know," I tell Ron, shoving him slightly, "you really do have the emotional range of a teaspoon. It's quite ridiculous."

"Oi!" Ron exclaims defensively as Harry bursts into giggles once more, "I'm very emotional, thank you very much! I just don't go around shoving it in other people's faces like girl's do!"

"Tarver's a girl," Harry reminds him, even though I'm standing right here and am under the impression that everyone's aware of my gender, "and she doesn't shove it in people faces."

"Yeah," Ron agrees, giving me a strange look, "you're a bit odd, aren't you."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and give him a slight scowl instead. "Thank you, Weasley," I say dryly, "for pointing it out to me. Always good to hear, that."

"I'm only saying," Ron begins hotly, "that I've never seen you be anything other than happy or annoyed! Doesn't seem to be much of an emotional range to me is all!"

This, I realize quickly, is getting into dangerous territory. So instead of arguing, which in any other subject I'd be more than glad to do, I pointedly roll my eyes and turn to Harry. "How's Teddy?"

I don't know if Harry's caught on or if he's just one of those people who absolutely love talking about children, but he immediately begins to recount his godson's life in miniscule detail that's close to boring. "-And he's even gotten off the bottle, which is a plus because it means he's close to sleeping through the night. Or at least, that's what Molly tells me."

Mrs. Weasley would know, I'm sure.

"What about your nephew," Harry asks, and I can feel Ron perk up behind me. "Has he been born yet?"

This question catches me off guard, though logically I know it shouldn't. One of them asks me every time I see them. "No," I say after a minute of silence. "He's not due for another week. Last time I talked to Traci-" it takes everything I have to ignore the feeling in my gut at saying her name "-she said he's doing quite well. Giving her a bit of trouble of course, but she's pregnant so it's to be expected."  
>"Know what she's naming him yet?" Ron asks, and I turn to give him a tight smile that I'm sure he doesn't realize is fake.<p>

"Not a clue. I don't think she's told anyone, but I'm sure she knows exactly what his name is going to be. I think it's one of the things she's most excited about, is getting to name him." The other being that one he was born she wouldn't feel as bad about offing herself like the selfish coward she is. "I'm planning on visiting after closing tonight," I add, making my voice as nonchalant as possible. "See if maybe she'll slip up."

They both nod in acceptance of this fact, neither seeming to realize that visiting my sister will probably be about the same as going straight back to my flat. Either way I most likely won't be talking to anyone.

I hear the bell chime of someone opening the door to the shop and turn around, already sticking a warm smile on my face even before I see who's gone and interrupted the conversation. Not that I particularly enjoy where the conversation has led to, but still.

To my utter shock, I see one of the last people I've ever expected to see come into a shop run by the Weasley's. Draco Malfoy. And then I begin to feel slightly suspicious, because I don't see why any Draco would come here voluntarily. This, I decide immediately, will not end well.

Still, I might as well put off the inevitable.

"Draco," I greet blandly, knowing enough as a pureblood and Slytherin that any surprise I convey at seeing him will most likely be used against me later. I feel Harry and Ron stiffen beside me even as I move away from them, striding calmly forward until I'm in front of the blonde tosser.

I haven't seen the little bastard since the final battle.

"How pleasant to see you again," I lean in to give him the proper greeting - a light kiss on cheek which he dutifully returns. As quickly as can be allowed I pull back, keeping a safe distance from him. I don't have to see Harry and Ron to know that they're both glaring daggers at him. Still, Draco doesn't even bat an eyelash. In fact, his gaze is fixed slowly on me.

"I apologize for coming unannounced, Emily," He tells me, though there's no hint of apology in his voice. "And I apologize even further for asking if you would be willing to speak with me privately."

I keep my face carefully devoid of the emotions raging inside of me, and when I speak it is with the exact same amount of cold politeness he's enforcing. "Of course," I say, giving him a curt nod before turning to my friends. "If it's alright, you two, can you watch the register for a moment while I speak with Draco in the office?" They nod quickly, and in unison, and I know they're surprised by the casual indifference I'm giving them. As though we hadn't spent the last half-hour giggling like school girls.

After this is over with, I know I'm going to have to apologize profusely and listen to Ron go on about how strange and utterly Slytherin I sound at the moment.

"Potter," Draco greets stiffly. "Weasley." He nods to them, and they glare in return as I lead my former housemate into George's office. It's cluttered, of course, like just about everything in the store, but neither of us paying the state of the room any mind.

I can my heart pounding in my chest. I know, for a fact, that this can't be good. Whatever it is, it's going to be painful to hear.

This feeling is emphasized when the haughty look on Draco's face vanishes, and he suddenly looks ten years older and, even worse, defeated.

"What's going on, Draco?" I ask, letting my mask fall as well. Even if I don't like him, even if I've _never_ liked him, I know well enough that he's not trying to screw me around the bend. What ever he's come here for, it's serious.

"I have bad news, Emily," he sighs, looking at me apologetically and a little fearfully, as though he expects me to hex him any second. I can't promise that I won't. "I-I don't know how to tell you...delicately...so I suppose there's nothing for it than to get it all out here."

For the first time, I wish I'm a successful legimens. Unfortunately I've never been interested in that type of magic.

"It's your sister," He mutters after a moment of silence. I feel my heart tighten up in my chest, and my head immediately begins jumping with thoughts. Which sister? What happened? Why is _he_ the one to tell me? "Traci," Draco continues before I can say anything, and now I know exactly what he's going to say.

I feel the tears spring to my eyes and immediately hold them back. No time for that.

I failed. She's dead. It's all my fault.

"We found her this morning in her home. Healers are saying she most likely poisoned herself, but an investigation has started just in case it was a murder."

"It wasn't," I whisper, and I have to bite down hard on my lip to keep from crying. "She's been wanting to kill herself for months, she's just been waiting until..." And then I realize that she was still pregnant, and my head shoots up to meet Draco's grey eyes. "What about the kid? She's not due for another week-"

"She had the child two days ago," Draco tells me, and it's almost like he's trying to soothe me. Maybe he is. "That's how we found out as quickly as we did. She asked that they run some extra tests on the child to make sure he's quite alright - and he is, there's nothing medically wrong with him. They let her out yesterday with the promise that she'd be coming back in this morning to get him. When she didn't show up Auror's went to investigate, and..." He pauses, suddenly seeming to realize that he's talking to me, Traci's sister. "I'm so sorry, Emily."

"Has anyone contacted Hogwarts?" I ask quietly, knowing that I'll have to be the one to tell Madison, and at the same time hoping that someone already has so that I won't have to see the look on her face. I can't handle this. Not again.

"Everyone thought it best that you tell your younger sister. After all, as soon as it's been clarified that you didn't murder Traci, both Madison and your nephew will be put in your care."

This makes me stop dead. All of my emotions, all of my thoughts, everything is given away to pure shock. It never once crossed my mind that I would become legally responsible for Madison and the baby.

Not once.

"You're welcome as much time as you need to tell Madison, and then the Auror's have said that they'd greatly appreciate it if, when you felt comfortable, to go down there for questioning. No one thinks you've done it," Draco adds, and I feel him put a hand on my shoulder. It takes everything I have not to throw it off. "They just have to cover all of they're bounds."  
>"How do you know all of this?" I ask, because it's the only thing that I can say that sounds even half-way safe for my emotional state at the moment. It wouldn't do to cry in front of him.<p>

"I'm training with the healers at St. Mungo's," Draco tells me, albeit reluctantly. "They were going to send someone else, but I volunteered. I thought it might go better if you weren't being told by a stranger."

I have to give him that, at least. That would've made it all the worse, being told by some middle-aged wanker who doesn't even know my family.

"I really am sorry, Emily," Draco murmurs, and, for the first time in my life perhaps, I actually believe him.

It's hard to pretend to have that much raw pity.

Pity, raw or not, isn't particularly welcome at the moment.

"Thank you for telling me, Draco," I say, my voice raising to it's normal, dignified tone as I step out of his grasp and towards the door. "If you will excuse me, I have duties that must be attended to."

"Of course," Draco agrees stiffly, his voice picking up as well. "Despite the circumstances, it was wonderful to see you. And I hope that we may talk again soon."

We both know that that isn't going to happen.

"As do I," I say, and with a brief nod of cool acceptance, I allow him to open the office door for me and we both step out.

"Potter," Draco acknowledges again as he steps towards the door. "Weasley." And with that he's gone, and I'm once again left alone to pick up the pieces of my quickly crumbling family.

"Is everything alright, Tarver?" Harry asks hesitantly, and I know that the expression on my face isn't exactly what they're expecting. I've retreated into myself, generally something reserved for when I'm alone. At this point I don't really care.

"Did Malfoy hurt you?" Ron adds quickly, and I know he's just looking for an excuse to get pissy with his old school rival.

"No," I reply, though I'm not sure who I'm answering. "My sister has committed suicide and I'm afraid I have some things to take care of." They both look at me with equal amounts of shock, and I'm not sure what they're more surprised by: the fact that Traci is dead or the distant and cold way I'm saying it. "If you see George before I get back, kindly inform him of my situation. If you will excuse me, gentlemen." And with a slight nod in their direction, the same as Draco's had been seconds before, I gather up all of my remaining strength and apparate to the last place I want to be: Hogsmeade.

As soon as I make it into the village, my shoulders slump and I take a second to re-cooperate from the blow I've just been dealt.

Traci had her baby. She killed herself, just like I knew she would. I was about to make the trek up to Hogwarts to tell Madison that once again she had one less person in our family to rely on. Unless by some miracle the Auror's decide that I'm responsible for Traci's death, I'm about to have two more mouths to feed. I have no fucking idea how to take care of children.

How the hell could I keep this up?


End file.
